What's Born of Hate: A Monster's Ball Fic
by Tiera-Tarie
Summary: Sonny Grotowski befriends a girl he met standing on his mother's grave. Notes: Set before the events in the movie. STRONG/OFFENSIVE content and language ahead... I ask readers to view this with an open-mind and leave intolerance at the door ...
1. In A Better Place

**Story Title:** "What's Born of Hate"; I guess I can sum up this title with a quote:

_FAMILY: Our families determine who we are; determine what we're not. All of our relationships with everybody we ever meet for the rest of our lives is based on the way we relate to our family! No wonder the world's so fucked up!_ -Augustus Hill (HBO's Oz)

...yeah.

**Author:** "Tiera-Tarie" aka "shadows" aka "ooshadygirloo"

**Summary:** Set before the events in the movie. Sonny Grotowski befriends a girl he met standing on his mother's grave.

**Disclaimer:** This story is entirely fictional and made for entertainment purposes only. I DO NOT own _Monster's Ball, _nor am I seeking monetary gain for writing this, it's just for enjoyment. The characters of _Monster's Ball_ (Sonny, Hank, Buck, Laticia etc.) and anyone else you may recognize is not mine, either.

I created (original characters) Bonnie and Tabitha (aka "Bitty") and characters you do not know.

**Author's Notes: You can still understand this story even if you've never seen the movie that it's based on.** I ask readers to view this with an open-mind and leave intolerance at the door (but wipe your feet). This story tackles racism, various types of relationships, hate crimes, and the classic dysfuctional families in pseudo present day Georgia, USA (but it could be _any_ town in America); it contains death, adult situations and mature language and content; sexual situations of various smutty-ness, violence, drug use... if these ain't your cup of tea, I advise you to turn back now. **Rating: T/M**

As my first attempt at writing after a long time, I've done my best, all I ask is that you REVIEW. Please? Concrit welcome!

R.I.P. Peter Boyle.

R.I.P. Heath Ledger. This story wouldn't have been possible if it weren't for his powerful performance in _Monster's Ball_.

* * *

Chapter 1 - _In A Better Place_

_-o-o-o-o-_

The sound of a car door clomping shut roused Buck Grotowski out of a hasty slumber, consequently, a foul breaking of wind followed this rude awakening. Buck swore, grouching about uncontrollable bowels under his breath as the worse of the odor wafted away on the next light breeze. He'd fallen asleep on the porch again. No wonder, nowadays he couldn't even piss standing up, it's just a matter of time when the Powers That Be would end his prolonged suffering and he'll be sleeping for good. Therein lies the sad truth of getting older and expendable.

"Hello?"

He blinked away the sleep in his eyes, wondering how long he'd been out.

"...Sir?"

Buck's hearing wasn't all that great as of late, but he sure as hell heard a voice... Sure enough, a man Buck didn't know was standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch, looking to him expectantly.

"Whaddaya want, _Boy_?" Buck harrumphed, even though this man looked like he'd passed adolescence a few decades ago.

The man stiffened and raised his chin, trying to appear undisturbed by the insolence of the old fart, no pun intended. He cleared his throat, "Delivery, _Sir_."

Buck's dull blue eyes panned to the pair of oxygen tanks hefted underneath the other man's arms.

"They're early." Buck said, his voice a bit raspy.

"I know, Sir," the man replied apologetically, "but this ain—is not my usual route – I'm coverin' for your usual guy, you see – so some things had to be... changed."

Buck heaved a tired sigh…back in his day he'd light a stick or cigar without a care—no pansy-ass Surgeon General back then. When the government made disclaimers the lay of the land, he'd still light up and paid them no mind. 'Til the day emphysema started in on his lungs. Some would call that karma, but not Buck.

He jerked his head to the man with the tanks begrudgingly. "Take 'em in the house. Be quick about it; I'll know if you touch anything."

*

Bonnie watched all this transpire quietly from her spot by the van, a voyeur. Two strangers engaging one another just yards away. She pretended she was watching a silent movie. Lifting her camera to her face and peering through the viewfinder, she carefully focused on her specimen, adjusting her lens to zoom in on the geriatric fellow as his mouth moved inaudibly. Perfect shot.

The girl lowered her camera to find her father had gone into the house, and the old man had finally noticed her presence. She waved her hand meekly by way of a greeting, and was reciprocated by a retreating back as the man unceremoniously got up off his plastic patio chair and shuffled into the house, a walker aiding his escape. _How rude,_ she thought.

Having had the grumpy old man leave at the sight of her, she resumed her curious assessment of the exterior of his home undisturbed: It was a warm morning in early spring. The white, two-story house sat on two acres of land; bright yellow dandelions peppered the unkempt lawn. At the far side of the property was a mean chain-link fence with barbwire coiling along its top rail, bordering where the neighbors' yard probably began and this one ended.

Something on the side of the house catches the girl's attention, an odd sort of sight that piqued her interest instantly. She looks back at the door, expecting her father to return any minute. Yet after five minutes pass and no one comes out, she takes the initiative and lurks towards the house. Bonnie reached her destination unseen, a wooden tool shed with a statue of the Virgin Mary out front. In the long shadows of this ordinary shed was something extraordinary: two tombstones erected side by side, jutting from the bright green blades of grass. The left stone's engravings had faded presumably due to time, the edges of the letters smooth and barely legible now, and the tombstone on the right had sharper letters. A contrast to the front yard, the gravesite had been mowed and cared for reverently.

Squatting down, she prepares to capture the monuments; as she adjusts the camera to frame the respected epitaphs, her vision blurs, eyes stinging. Without even trying her eyes began to well with hot tears. She blinks a couple times and dismisses it as her sinuses acting up from the dewy grass and the next time see looks into the viewfinder it's as clear as the sky overhead.

An eerie sensation of a different sort turns the hairs up at the back of her neck, the feeling one gets when he or she knows someone's close or watching you. Chancing a glance back to the house behind her reveals a silhouette just inside a paned window of the pristine white house: a balding head bobs just within view. So, that old man from the porch was leering at her, yet somehow she knows his dubious stare wasn't the phantom presence giving her the goosebumps, and she whirls back to look down at the graves... It didn't occur to her that she was treading upon a very sacred place for any god fearing individual, and a stranger's back yard, and –

"That's my Grandma."

Bonnie nearly jumps out her skin at the voice, grabbing her chest to still her rapidly beating heart. Her eyes shoot up to find a boy – no, a man, a man that looked to be in his early 20s – standing several feet away. His worn cap is pulled tight over his eyes, his faded plaid shirt unbuttoned and a sweaty undershirt that she can only assume used to be white clings to his chest underneath. His weathered jeans have grass stains on the knees and he leaned precariously on the handle of a rake. Lastly, she scrutinizes his hard-pressed face and drooping eyes, and his initial indifference to her trespassing makes the pounding of her heart subside a little.

"I-I didn't mean to be rude," she motions to the graves. "I was... I'm sorry, 'bout your grandmother..?" The man didn't seem to mind her intrusion, he perches the rake on a lumpy, black trash bag filled with yard waste and steps over to the headstone on the right, she stays where she is, at the base between the two plots; she'd been careful not to step on the slight telltale grassy mounds there.

"H'mm..." He folds his arms over his chest and stares down at the plots, his jaw flexes. He looks beaten down, melancholy. "...my Ma." He nods down to the stone closest to him. Perusing the tombstone's epitaph, Bonnie discovers his mother's name was Eleanor Grotowski.

Placing her camera in the messenger bag around her shoulders, Bonnie shoves her hands into her short pockets. "I'm sorry for your losses."

"... Thanks."

Bonnie looked at her feet, "So, aren't you gonna kick me out? Or ask why a stranger's in your backyard, ogling tombstones?"

"I reckoned I'd give ya a break," he drawled in a thick, impeccably southern accent. "...since you've lost someone too."

Something flashed in Bonnie's eyes then. "H-How would you know that?"

"I jus' do." Sonny says simply, taking off the tough gloves he was wearing to pull weeds.

Bonnie doesn't reply, and they stand in contrite lament for a few moments.

"I... My name is Bonnie."

Breaking the ice, a keen smile twitches at the corner of his mouth at her impromptu introduction.

"Eugene." He offers quietly. "Er'yone calls me 'Sonny' though."

She smiles at that. "Nice to meet you, Sonny."

"Pleasure's all mine, Miss Bonnie."

"JADE!"

Bonnie jolts alert at her father's call. She steps away from the graves, turning to run back to the front of the house, looking back over her shoulder and offering her new acquaintance what she hoped to be an apologetic look.

"I gotta go!" she called unnecessarily, getting farther and farther away. "Bye!"

Sonny just tipped the brim of his cap with a finger in mock salute, and then went back to work.

*

Bonnie skidded around the corner to run smack dab into her father, who looked peeved at having to call her when he told her to stay put by the delivery van.

"What, you hard a'hearing, girl?" she didn't have anytime to catch her breath before he was pulling her towards the van. "Get yo' ass in there!"

"Daddy, I didn't do anything!" She pleaded, but didn't know why.

"I've been calling you fo' ten minutes, Jade." He snapped impatiently as they climbed into the van. "TEN minutes!"

"I was in the back yard."

"Fo' what?!"

"Uh --" she sputtered as he shifted the van in reverse and pressed the gas paddle. She flew forward, her hands shot out to brace the dashboard lest she would impale the windshield at the scary speed he was going. Bonnie said the first thing that came to mind as she recovered and buckled up her seatbelt. "I saw a bird back there and wanted to take a picture of it. You know… like what Mama used to do."

"Don't ev'va do that shit again, Jade. I didn't know where you were --"

"I was just --"

"Be quiet!" He shifted the gear into drive and they spun recklessly into the empty, dusty main road, heading east towards the hospital. "I said, 'don't do that shit again.' Ya hear me?"

"Yes, sir." She said weakly. The rest of the drive back he didn't talk to her, and she did not expect him to. He was upset about something else, she could tell, anger radiated off of him in waves as he silently fumed. As the van sped along the road she was left thinking one question: What could have gotten him all bothered at that white house?


	2. Hard Bargins

Chapter 2 - _Hard Bargains_

_-o-o-o-o-_

"Ma'am, you can't pay for this with food stamps."

"Diapers?"

The clerk shook her head, replying as if she'd had to say this a hundred times already: "No, Miss. Only _food_."

Bonnie wistfully slid the Pampers off the conveyance belt and into a random shopping basket. A mechanical _hum_ was deafening as the rest of the items continued to move down the belt, the cashier quickly scanned each item's bar code, heard the satisfying beep, then pushed the jars of baby food and lunch meat down to the bag boy. The kid, who couldn't be no more than fifteen, methodically stacked the food into paper bags.

"Wait! Could you double-pack those in the plastic bags with the handles? Thank you."

The kid rolled his eyes and reached under the metal counter, producing several plastic bags, and began to hoist the full paper bags inside of them, effectively making the bags more durable and easier to carry.

"Do you have a WIC voucher?" The clerk casually asked now, ringing up the total.

Bonnie clumsily sifted through her messenger bag, finding a bent blue and white folder and handing it to the clerk, who in turn checked the paperwork tucked inside.

"This ticket is expired, Ma'am." The clerk handed the folder back to the girl.

Bonnie's mouth dropped open, incredulous. "What?!"

The cashier's expression went from indifferent to sympathetic and she glanced nervously at the line that was forming in her checkout aisle before leaning in to whisper to her. Although the clerk's approach was tactful, it was obvious Bonnie couldn't afford the groceries now, and had to put them back.

Bonnie did not heed the cashier, but opened her bag again, removing lip chap, a compact mirror, a travel pack of tissues and other girly things before she found her coin purse at the bottom, hastily unzipping it to find a ten dollar bill crumpled inside, she handed the money over to the clerk.

"Will this cover it?"

"You're still short."

As the clerk began to take her items from the counter, Bonnie's agitation and desperation was rapidly brewing to the surface. "Can I get the formula on credit?"

"We don't do that here --"

"Look, could ya hurry it up!" -- that from the middle-aged woman third in line, trying to hold a shopping cart full of microwave dinners and frozen pizza while her two little boys begged for candy they wanted but she wouldn't buy because the sweets would rot their teeth, as if the processed food and fatty oils in her basket wouldn't stunt their growth. The woman added bitterly, _"...please?"_

"Just a minute!" – Bonnie snipped, she turned back to the cashier, lowering her voice, she pleaded: "Lady, could you just give me the cans? I'll come back with the cash, I promise..."

The store's manager – a guy shaped like an egg in a blue shirt a size too small and a shiny gold name tag that read "Greg" – was looming in the background the entire time the drama in checkout lane nine was unfolding. He stood by a rack of magazines a couple of aisles down – failing to look occupied. He was obviously keeping a wary eye on the customer he just _knew_ was going to start trouble. He sidled up next to the clerk, folding his arms. Greg's thick, droopy mustache quivered as he blew air out his red nose.

"Ma'am, we don't want no trouble."

Bonnie didn't like to be reduced to groveling, even worse the manager was now here trying to write her off without even knowing her situation. She _almost_ didn't know what to say, she always had _something_ to say but the only choice words she had for these two hassling her presently consisted of four letter words.

"I got it."

Lo and behold, all eyes turned to the man standing next in line that spoke up. Greg narrowed his eyes warily. It was Sonny; he fumbled in his pockets and pulled out his wallet, counting out the correct amount. He put the 12-pack of beer he stopped in there for on the belt, a beat later he picked up the bundle of diapers discarded in the basket and placed that on the belt too.

"Ring those up too, would ya?"

"Sure, Sonny." The cashier replied and scanned the box. The bag boy, bummed he didn't get to see an altercation between Bonnie and his boss, solemnly put the beer in a plastic bag; the diapers went in one of Bonnie's bags.

*

"Thanks." Bonnie said once they left the counter, the bag boy was behind them, lugging her packages with some effort. They stepped onto the rubber _"Thanks for Shopping at Johnson's Grocers! Please Come Again!"_ mat at the same time and the automatic doors swished open, Sonny let her go first outside into the parking lot.

"No problem... Bonnie, right?"

Bonnie looked momentarily shocked at having her name being spoken, her cheeks were still flushed with humiliation resonating from the altercation in Johnson's; her coffee-brown eyes were lackluster and desolate from stress. Sonny felt a pang of dread in his chest, for she appeared to have no recourse of ever having met him. "How' you know my name?"

"Well, I --" he tripped over his words; he didn't think she might not remember him. "We've met before, I live on Everwood? You were at my house last week and you had a camera --"

"I remember now." Bonnie said, and stopped walking, the bag boy almost ran into the back of her but looked up in time, veering around her to stop and wait quietly off to the side. "You just look different in that uniform, is all."

Sonny couldn't help but chuckle at that, and tugged anxiously at the untucked, wrinkled hem of his black correctional officer uniform he still had on. Hank would have a fit if he saw it in such disarray.

"I got to go now." She announced, bringing her hand up to rest of the bag boy's shoulder, he got the message and handed Sonny his beer, who took it and nodded his thanks. "Thanks again for helping me."

"You're welcome." Sonny and the bag boy replied in unison, and then exchanged confused glances. Bonnie did not specify who she was expressing her gratitude towards, or perhaps she had been referring to both boys...

"Want me to take these to ya car, Miss Bonnie?" The bag boy proposes. Bonnie nods her answer.

"...Well, I'll see ya 'round?" Sonny asks Bonnie, a tinge of anticipation in his voice.

The notion of further ill-timed encounters didn't sit well with Bonnie. "I don't know 'bout that, Sonny." She says ruefully. "My daddy don't normally do deliveries on Everwood. I only tagged along that time to take pictures, so..."

"Okay," he says lamely, pulling out his keys. "…Bye, then."

"Bye." ...and then she's gone. Sonny climbs into the cab of his Jeep Comanche and sits there for a minute, the key goes in the ignition but he doesn't turn it over yet. The sun's setting, and he can make out Bonnie gradually getting further away as she and the bag boy weaves between parked cars.

She says something to the boy and he places the bags on the ground, in the middle of the parking lot, and darts back inside the store.

Bonnie picks up the bags, and begins to walk down the road, an arm full of bags in tow. Sonny squints at this, flustered for a moment.

He starts up the truck.

*

Bonnie adjusts the shopping bags and side-steps a pothole. In the distance the orange sun setting above the horizon_._ She moves a little faster now – mentally slapping herself for not having worn her closed-toed shoes – loose pebbles jammed under her heel and the sole of the sandals, yet she trudges on because she has to. Her house is nowhere in sight.

A dingy black and gray truck is on the road and approaching fast, she moves off the road's shoulder and ends up in the dead grass of a field. The truck honks –

"I can't move over anymore…"she groused under her breath.

The truck pulls up beside her, slowly moving to match her pace, and she distinguishes it's the guy that helped her at the supermarket... Sonny. Bonnie halts mid-stride, the bags jerked in her hand – she drops one.

"_Damnit!_"

The pick-up pulls off the road and stops a few feet in front of her, Sonny hops out and comes over.

"I got it." He calls and picks up the busted bag and the cans of formula that rolled out into the ditch, blowing rusty red dirt off the tops. They put the groceries in the bed of his truck. Bonnie, having little choice, reluctantly gets into the passenger side. Sonny pulls back onto the road.

A few minutes later Sonny asks "Where to?"

"Huh?" she says dumbly. A horrid thought was flashing before her eyes - it's of her lying in the backwoods, barely breathing with Pampers and frozen hot dogs scattered around her bloody and broken body. "Uhh..."

"You alright?"

"I'm fine," she slides closer to the door, making sure it's unlocked. "Just drive."

*

Sonny politely listened as she let up on her guard and complained about those unreasonable clerks back at Johnson's.

She punched her fist into her palm with a loud _smack, _miming what she wanted to do to that scared, fat cow of a manager – Greg. "... and that bitch that checked me out might have had a stick up her ass…"

"Booter?"

"You know her?"

"Sort of.. well... We went to high school t'gether"

Bonnie nodded in understanding.

Sonny shrugged a shoulder and shifted gears. "Booter's one of those gals..." She waited as he struggled to find the right words to describe the cashier, maybe having a flashback to his school days, "...she's all bark and no bite."

Bonnie laughed at that. "Like I said: _bitch_."

Some ditty plays low on the radio, and Bonnie idly raps her knuckles on the window to the vocals of what sounds like an old folk song. Expansive fields change to unkempt lawns of badly kept houses spaced widely apart and then residential streets. She debated on whether she should allow this man, a jail-cop no less, to drop her off and ultimately know where she lives; or have him drop her off a block away and she just walk the rest of the way.

"Are you hot? I could roll down the windows for you..."

Bonnie stopped humming and pried her eyes away from the window. "Mmm? Oh, I'm fine."

"Sure?"

Bonnie gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm sure."

"This station okay?" Sonny asked, his brows pinched. "I can turn it off or --"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Bonnie interjected. "I mean, if anything you shouldn't've gave two shits about me back there at the store."

Sonny pursed his lips. "Jus' tryin' to help."

"Well, I don't want your charity – just because I'm Black doesn't mean I'm poor too."

"Don't you think I know that?" Sonny wasn't watching the road, the truck swerved into the oncoming lane before he set it right again. After that, a half-baked idea struck him. "If it bothers you --"

"I didn't say --"

"-- Then you can pay me back..." Sonny said, quickly adding, "- but it can't be with money."

Bonnie narrowed distrustful eyes at him. "Then how?"

Sonny wrung the steering wheel, he saw this would either go one of two ways: she could accept the terms or refuse, leaving him with a bruised ego, but not broken.

"Your phone number."

"My phone number?"

"Your phone number." Sonny echoed resolutely, with courage he never knew he had. "Deal?"

"You drive a hard bargain." Bonnie said, and gave the arrangement some thought. "Magnolia."

"Magnolia?" Many scenarios of how she would respond to his request came about, but this was one he hadn't expected.

"Two more houses down and a left on Magnolia. That's... where I live," Bonnie says and he just looks as if he'd been thrown a curve ball and misses, but follows the directions.

The ride is over too soon, and Sonny wordlessly gets out of the pick-up and carries all her bags up to the house. Bonnie opens the mesh screen door to unlock the front door and goes inside the house, leaving Sonny to wonder if she'd just rejected him. Just as Sonny is pathetically leaving the porch, she returns, grinning. Bonnie hands him a piece of paper.

"Don't make me regret this, okay?" Bonnie said, facetious.

Sonny doesn't say anything, only offers her a crooked smile and slips the paper into his shirt pocket. He gets into the black/gray truck, the big thing kicks up a cloud of dust as he peels off. Bonnie lingers on the porch, watching the pick-up get smaller until she can't see it anymore.


	3. Bitty

Chapter 3 - _Bitty_

_-o-o-o-o-_

It was a Saturday afternoon in April when he got a call out of the blue. Sonny sat across from his father, eating lunch – no idle chat was had – as usual. Hank answered the phone on the second ring, and when he heard a voice he didn't recognize politely ask to speak to Sonny, he eyed his son suspiciously from across the table.

"It's for you," he uttered, chewing around a piece of sandwich then swallowing it with a smack of his thin lips.

Sonny was flabbergasted, his incredulous reaction to the news showing plainly on his face. Who could be calling him? Once the thought crossed his mind, he cursed himself for being such a pitiful guy as to not have expected a call a day in his life. Even so, someone had called him, and it couldn't have been a mistake because the person on the other end knew his name. They wanted to speak to _him_ – he tried not to smile triumphantly at that, like a goof. His father Hank never smiled, neither did Buck. Sonny was starting to think the grimness of facilitating Death Row was getting to Hank, and tending to Grandpa's ailing needs has hindered them from having their own lives. Sonny bashfully excused himself from the table and said he was going to take the call in the den. When he takes the den's phone off the hook, he knows his dad is still listening in the kitchen in vain. Most people would find eavesdropping invasive, but Sonny had never gone about having a private tête-à-tête so he was slow on this particular uptake.

"'Lo?"

_"Sonny?"_

The voice was female, distinctly so. "Yeah. Who's this?" There was a moment of suspense, then the low, unmistakably feminine voice said:

_"Bonnie."_

"Ah, um. Hi."

Seconds passed before she pushed out, _"...I'm returning your call."_

Sonny wet his lips and began to rake his mind. Some three weeks ago he was going through his pockets before he did laundry and came across the number she given him after he'd gave her a much needed lift home. It took him another day to actually dial the digits, and when he did he got an automated answering machine, but he hung up before the tone indicated to leave a message, and apparently after Caller ID recorded his number. "That was weeks ago."

_"Yeah, well... I was sort of tied up at the time. Sick something awful. Now I'm not. So here I am."_ She sounded very matter-of-fact as she gave her reasoning. Sonny nodded to himself as if that explained everything. Truthfully, the snafu three weeks ago left him thinking that the number was phony and he'd never hear from her again, and he was a fool to think it'd ever work. Nevertheless, there has to be something said to make contact well after the time that's considered polite.

"So you're tellin' me you _didn't_ fall off the face of the earth?"

_"I didn't mean…_ _I was wondering…" _

Sonny's grip tightened on the phone's receiver.

_"I'm planning to go to a friend's house this afternoon, I was wondering if you wanted to join me."_

Sonny didn't know what to say to that. Out of the blue this girl he's met once when she was trespassing, and another when she was broke, calls him to spend time together. He couldn't help but have doubts that there was an ulterior motive.

_"So, how 'bout it?"_

"And how're we gon' meet this friend'o yours?"

_"We drive."_ Ah-ha, she needed another ride.

"You mean I'll drive." Sonny grumbled, absentmindedly worrying his thumbnail.

_"…I don't have my license yet. Is that okay?" _

Sonny thought about saying no, but if it were seeing the elusive Bonnie again or staying home with the cantankerous Buck and wishing he'd went out, he decided to choose the lesser evil. "I guess."

On the other end Bonnie made a sound of relief. _"Okay."_ And she proceeded to give him directions to her house whether he remembered the way or not. "_Don't honk when you pull up outside. I'll be waiting."_

"A' right."

And they hang up. Sonny hears a telltale _clang_ from the kitchen. He passed Hank on his way up to his room.

"Where're you off to?" He blocked his son's way to the stairs, looking down his nose at his son, a near impossible feat since Sonny was the tallest by a few inches. The piercing stare used to intimidate Sonny but it lost its authoritative affect when Hank had to tilt his head up to do it. Hank liked to pride himself on striking an imposing glare, albeit useless at times. A real ball-buster, Sonny's dad was, he could recall even as a kid his father never really stopped being a jailhouse guard even off the clock.

Sonny may have gotten his height from his mother's side of the family, but he got his pigheadedness from his paternal roots.

"Never you mind," Sonny said out the side of his mouth, brushing past his dad to go racing up the steps two at a time. He changed shirts and brushed his teeth for the second time that morning. He looked in the mirror, quickly combing back his hair only to have it curl back up around his ears and the nape of his neck like a spring a minute later. He gave up slicking his rebellious mane back the fourth time it recoiled of its own violation. He debated as to whether or not he should put on a hat, and opted for both; tucking his favorite trucker hat in his back pocket just in case – it was dark blue and fitted with white mesh in the back, the oval white patch somehow got ripped off the front, a lighter blue oval is the only remnant of what once was there. Back down stairs, Sonny grabbed his jacket and keys hanging on the coat rack next to the door.

"I'm going out!"

*

Bonnie hopped in the truck and gave Sonny an obligatory hug. There was no other way to describe it, it was the same way you'd embrace a weird relative: an arm around the shoulders, pat the back, pull apart. She did all the talking, pointing out landmarks on their way to this mysterious friend. He caught the name Tabitha, and some of his apprehension eased when he found out this friend was a girl-friend. A short drive later they were pulling into a driveway of a forest green, one-story house with white trimming on a quiet street. The only sign that someone was home was an old Volkswagen bug parked in front. A strange feeling crept inside Sonny and settled in the pit of his gut... but he couldn't quite place his finger on why he had been getting the strange vibes yet.

A petite girl with red hair and a fair complexion appeared at the door. Sonny purposely dragged his feet getting out the truck, while Bonnie ran up the porch steps to slam into the red-headed girl. They squealed, he winced; they embraced one another in the doorframe for a long time, he dutifully stood back and let them share a moment. Then, Bonnie turned and reached out to him, Sonny came closer and she wrapped her slender fingers around his. It was so unexpected he tensed and inwardly fought to regain control. He resisted the urge to let go.

"_This_ is Sonny," Bonnie told the red-haired girl, beaming, and her eyes went all sparkly. He wondered where'd that look had came from, had Bonnie been talking to this friend about him? And what could she have possibly have said about him? That notion left him on the fence between flattered and insecure. "Sonny, meet Tabitha, otha'wise known as 'Bitty'."

Sonny could easily discern why she was pegged such a nickname. His first impression of this girl was that she was tiny -- standing less than five feet, maybe a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet with boots on (literally)... In dress, she was the polar opposite to Bonnie's clothing, she wore denim overalls cut off at the knees and a black sleeveless t-shirt that didn't cover much. Sonny's inquisitive appraisal ended on the black combat boots Bitty sported probably to appear taller than for style. Now that he was up close he could see her hair was done up in some kind of twisting plaits, and the locks that weren't in twists were spiked, the color was a deep auburn red.

Bitty looked unperturbed by Sonny's flagrant ogling, as if she'd gotten this reaction all the time, and was tempted to lift his jaw off the floor. In return, her wide, hazel-green eyes drifted down to give him an assessing once-over, and she had to crane her neck up to meet his eyes. Finally, the line of her pink lips curved up into a humble smile.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sonny."

She didn't sound like a kid either, Sonny noted. He looked down to see her extended hand and without thinking he let go of Bonnie's hand and shook it. Good manners had been instilled in him since birth. He knew this girl was odd looking in a good way, and he wondered if all Bonnie's friends were this interesting. Before he knew what was going on, Bitty was pulling him over the threshold and into the strange house. Bonnie brought up the rear, clandestinely smirking, shutting the door behind her.

*

Clothes and girly things were discarded on every surface of Bitty's cramped, messy room, even in the sofa chair Sonny presently lazed on drinking a coke, wondering if it'd be bad form to have a smoke inside. He pretended to not notice that Bitty's laundry basket apparently exploded, why she used her entire room as a closet was her business. Let it be known, the room was far from filthy or gross, just... cluttered. The red-headed girl sure seemed to maneuver the room well even in its state of disarray; Bitty insisted the radio be on, explaining that loud music was how she concentrated, she sung and bounced around the room to every lyric of every song, even going as far as filling in the curse words the radio station censored.

"Sonny, do you know who sings this?" Bitty teased.

Sonny looked momentarily ill at ease, he didn't expect to be put on the spot. However, he found that when he listened to the raunchy lyrics of the hip-hop song, he knew exactly whom the artist was, and said so. Bitty smiled appraisingly, her assumptions confirmed, and Bonnie appeared to sit beside him, looking mildly impressed. He surmised Bonnie's expression was due to the fact she probably didn't expect him to know the answer, and – hell – if it weren't for Willie and Darryl getting him into what Buck called "cRap," he probably wouldn't have the slightest clue. It was safe to say he liked all genres of music, contrary to the social stigma that white folk like him preferred hoe-downs and country love ballads or guitar-heavy head bangers and sappy numbers where the crooners droned on and on about anarchy. Admittedly, hip-hop was far from perfect too, it is an acquired taste.

Bonnie produced a photo album, bursting at the seams with pictures. Most pictures contained Bonnie and Bitty as children in Easter Sunday dresses, opening presents on Christmas, dressed as the pink and yellow "Mighty Morphing Power Rangers" on Halloween. The girls seemed to have been joined at the hip since they were knee-high to a grasshopper. When she got to a Polaroid of her and Bitty on their first day of school, a woman was staring back at him from the glossy page, she looked to be in her early 30s and was holding their hands on the school's front steps, smiling ear to ear.

"Yer' mom?"

"Yeah." Bonnie sighed solemnly. "She's dead now." She said it like it didn't mean anything, but Sonny knew firsthand what it took to admit your mother's death with such apathy.

Bonnie was suddenly tired of show-and-tell, and put the album back on Bitty's bookshelf, crossing paths with her friend and whispering something in her ear - Bitty nodded and left the bedroom promptly. Bonnie mis-calculated a step over one of Bitty's shoes she had lying in the middle of the floor and went over, accidentally falling on Sonny's lap with an _"ouf!"_ His hands instantly went around her waist to keep her from hitting the floor. Bonnie brought her head out the crook of his neck, her cheeks flushed beet red. Sonny's lips parted, but he couldn't form any words because she'd knocked the wind out of him.

Bitty waltzed back in carrying an oversize tote bag then, her carefully arched eyebrows shot up to almost disappear in her hairline at the sight. She'd taken her army boots off at some point and her feet barely made a sound as she padded across the floor. "When you proposed the idea, Bonnie," she boisterously announced her return, successfully getting the two's attention. "I didn't expect him to accept it with open arms, _literally_." Bitty stage whispered to Bonnie, who went rigid and pushed up and away from Sonny like he was something icky.

Bitty, seeing Bonnie's response, looked from one to the other of them. "Oh. Did I say somethin' I shouldn't've said?"

"Always." Bonnie huffed, turning to avoid eye contact with Sonny, who was trying not to look like a kicked puppy. Bitty had the decency to look mildly embarrassed and shifted to hide the big bag behind her back to no avail, it stuck out on either side of her like a sore thumb.

"What is it?" Sonny asked cautiously, the only one not in on the secret.

"It's nothing. It's stupid," Bonnie said hurriedly, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes deceived her and wandered to the bag Bitty was still holding.

"No, it's not." Bitty said in an innocuous timbre, as if it weren't the first time they'd had this discussion. She addressed Sonny next, giving him a thousand-watt smile. "All you need is a... demonstration."

"I'm lost," is all Sonny could say. Whatever the girls had planned had something to do with that bag. He imagined by the bulkiness of it that it contained make-up or clothes. Did Bitty and Bonnie want to put him in an evening gown and paint his nails like some faggot? He didn't know if girls actually did that to their guy friends, but girlish accessories being in that bag was more likely than another one of Bonnie's girl friends.


	4. Head Aches

Chapter 4 – _Head Aches_

-o-o-o-o-

Sonny had been sadly mistaken about that bag. Bitty took a pair of sharp scissors from the tote -- which didn't hold make-up, or drag clothes -- and cut the rubber band that was holding Bonnie's scraggly hair out of her face. Once that was done, Bitty began to skillfully shear off inches of the ebony mane.

It was like watching Da Vinci paint the "Mona Lisa" for all Sonny knew about it. He'd always been fascinated with the grooming habits of girls: the manicured nails, the hairless limbs, the painted faces, the tucking and tightening they go through to look good in clothes when it counts, and the careful precision in which they style their hair. The latter fascinated Sonny the most because he was currently bearing witness to how it is done.

Bonnie sat Indian-style on a clear spot on the floor while Bitty sat behind her on the bed, her bony legs on either side of her friend's shoulders. Bonnie cupped her hands to catch the sheared strands falling around her and dropped them in the wastebasket beside the bed. Sonny noted her hair no longer touched her shoulders, but rested just below her chin, and a fringe of dark tresses now dusted her eyelashes. Bitty produced a hot curling iron next, and systematically took thin layers of black hair and curled them into loose spirals.

With Bonnie on the floor with her head down and Bitty preoccupied, rather than ask questions that may result in breaking Bitty's concentration and Bonnie having a lopsided haircut, Sonny's eyes admired the odd couple. When she stood next to him he figured Bonnie was about five foot seven inches, she was what some might call "voluptuous" and particularly well endowed bust-wise. Bitty was short and shaped like ply wood. When she looked at him, Bonnie's eyes gleamed like black obsidian stones. Bitty's eyes reminded Sonny of those Japanese anime cartoons – round and unreal. Bonnie's angular face was soft and serious all at the same time with high cheekbones and pouty lips like little pillows. Bitty's baby face was circular, her button nose splattered with little brown freckles that spilled onto the apples of her cheeks. Bonnie's skin was like the color of good honey, and Bitty's complexion rivaled his own – if he had a healthy, permanent tan.

"_Voilà!_" Bitty proclaimed proudly. Finished.

Bonnie's hair was now coiffed to frame her face. She got to her feet and came toward Sonny with sure steps.

The haircut instantly instilled confidence in her that she didn't possess earlier. Her eyes no longer gleamed, they pierced; and her new bangs softened her elongated face. Bonnie stared at him, and if Sonny was supposed to know what the look meant it flew over his head. He felt like he was in high school again, when the popular girl catches you looking at her, but she doesn't flick you off, she smiles. The corner of Bonnie's lips rose, as if they were being tugged by an invisible string, flashing dimples he hadn't realized she had.

*

"Sit, Sonny Boy." Bitty says with such finality that he dared not protest and did as he was told. The fact that she was commanding him to do things like some lapdog was only an afterthought.

Somehow the roles had been reversed. Bitty was in the sofa chair he'd recently vacated; he and Bonnie kneeled on the floor, the soft carpet padding their knees. Bitty patted a denim-clad thigh.

"Well? C'mon."

Sonny squinted, an idle hand going to scratch his stubbing chin, and he looked to Bonnie beside him for answers. "I'm not sure I'm followin', what do y'all want, 'xactly?"

"We want to do your hair." Bonnie said carefully. Bitty nodded once in agreement.

"Right. Was that so hard to say, Bonnie?"

Bonnie sucked her teeth, waving a hand Bitty's way dismissively. The color drained from Sonny's face.

"No, y'all ain't playin' 'Beauty Shop' with my hair. I ain't no queer."

"Well, it's a good thing we ain't playin' 'Beauty Shop', huh?" Bonnie rolled her eyes. She was getting more confident, and subsequently rash. She began to crawl towards him, like a prowling cat, forcing him to move back on his haunches until Bitty's chair blocked his retreat.

"What're doin'?" Bonnie sat perpendicular across his prone legs, thus immobilizing him. Just like that, he had an understandably masculine moment of weakness. He couldn't complain much about this predicament: Bitty's calves came around to lightly brush his biceps, her hands on his shoulders; Bonnie's face was within kissing distance. He should be on cloud nine right now, but -- at a risk of sounding vain -- he couldn't help to be a bit anxious about what they had in mind for his hair.

"What does it look like?" Bonnie scoffed, her speaking caused her to wiggle over him and he briefly closed his eyes and concentrated on _not_ getting too excited. He clenched his fists at his sides. Bonnie laughed and moved again. "Don't flatter yourself, Sonny. If you weren't such a spook I might not've had to sit on you to make sure you'd hold still."

Sonny's hand shot out to touch her leg just above her knee - successfully stilling her movements - he matched her challenging gaze. "Stop that."

Bonnie got the message and heeded his stern warning and stopped moving forthwith. She focused on equally distributing her weight so as not to sever the blood circulation to his legs. He felt Bitty's fingers pull playfully at his hair… hair that didn't know whether or not it wanted to be blond or brown, curly or straight.

"Hope you're not tender-headed."

*

Bitty was doing something painful to his scalp. He felt as her little fingers pulled and released strands of hair every few seconds, making tedious and hurtful work of whatever she'd been doing for the past half an hour. "It's a surprise," Bonnie said, refusing to give him a mirror to monitor progress, or make sure Bitty didn't pull out the scissors, for that matter. Bitty tugs at a tuft of hair above his right temple, he winces, the backs of his eyes begin to burn with unwarranted tears.

"Beauty is pain." Bitty chirps melodiously, he couldn't see her, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

Bonnie was dozing in his arms, albeit a bed was just a few feet away. In her haste to rest she forgot weighing him down wasn't supposed to entail this much body contact. Her back was flush against his front, using him as a human recliner, her neck crooked in a way he knew would hurt once she awoke eventually. She smelled faintly of the honeysuckles that blossomed all over this time of year, and seemed to fit perfectly laid against his body like this... He fought to harness the pain at his scalp and another sort of painful discomfort permeating in his groin. He should be given a medal for tolerating such cruel and unusual punishment.

"Done." Bitty scoots the chair back and stands, stretching, then moved to her dresser, finding a hot pink hand mirror in seconds. Sonny's handed the mirror -- Bonnie groans, then snuggles into him closer -- he freezes, thinking he'd woken her. Bitty takes the mirror back and holds it in front of him...

"Braids?"

"Cornrows." Bitty amends tersely. The hand that's not hugging Bonnie comes up to touch the neat plaits weaving vertically down his scalp - he grimaces at the taunt weavings. Bitty runs through the precautions like a doctor lecturing a patient. "Don't touch them for a'coupla hours, they're going to be sore. Don't scratch either -- that's a no-no..." she looks to the ceiling thoughtfully. "Tomorrow you can take them down and your hair will be even curlier."

"A'right..." He looks down at Bonnie, who's still peacefully snoozing in his lap, her wavy black hair covers half her face. He gently shakes her shoulder but she doesn't budge. He's restless and his ass is beginning to go numb from sitting on the floor and he knew it was well after dinnertime and he'd have to drop Bonnie off... but first she had to wake up.

"Don't." Bitty bends at the waist, eye level with him now, gesturing to Bonnie. "She doesn't like to be woken up... she can stay here t'night."

Sonny considers. If he leaves her with a friend, it'll look better than driving her home late at night -- he didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea. "Will you call her folks and tell 'em where she's at?"

Bitty shakes her head yes.

"Fine."

They'd successfully placed Bonnie in Bitty's guest room without stirring her much. Now Sonny stood aimlessly in the room, contemplating the day. Bonnie lay unawares in bed on her side -- still dressed except for shoes -- with a sheet pulled up to her stomach. He couldn't recall a time where he was welcomed, unquestioningly, into another person's home. He'd met Bitty seven hours earlier yet she didn't have any qualms about accepting him into her home like a vagrant needing shelter from a storm – and trusting him alone with her slumbering friend. He wondered why it was so easy for the girls to trust him like this after having known each other for such little time. Just as quickly as he thought it, another voice inside him denounced the pessimistic notions, for he meant the girls no harm, and all they wanted to do was play in his hair, and that was the gist of it.

On a whim, he slowly sat on the edge on the bed, then -- very slowly -- laid down on his side, gingerly propping his braided head up on his elbow facing Bonnie. She looked to be in the throes of a bad dream. He could make out her eyes moving underneath her closed eyelids, indicating a deep slumber. Her lips parted mutely, and Sonny waved a hand in front of her, at which she didn't respond. He was torn between interfering and subsequently finding out what Bitty meant about Bonnie not liking her sleep disturbed, or coming off as a sadist for having done nothing while she struggled.

He didn't have to decide.

A toilet flushes somewhere, and he bolts up and off the bed. Bonnie lethargically swipes at the empty spot he left, still fast asleep. He met Bitty in the twilight-dark of the hallway, but he'd walked from one conundrum right into another.

Bitty had been saying something but it might as well have fallen on deaf ears. See, he happened to look up behind her, and there in a small alcove inserted into the wall was an old military photo of a young man with a severe look on his face like most army men. He wore a military uniform with a lot of badges pinned proudly above his heart. His hat was pulled tightly over his cynical eyes, familiar looking eyes, only younger. Sonny let out a string of curses; Bitty followed his gaze, turning to look at the photo he was gawking at.

"Sonny... It's just a picture of my daddy."

"Dappa..." he whispered. Now he knew what that ominous feeling he had before meeting Bitty was – he worked with her father. Dappa Smith, a trusted member of Hank Grotowski's Death Row security team at the local penitentiary for twelve years.

"Do you work with my dad?" Bitty asked, her voice had an avid lilt to it, like she was meeting her favorite pop star. Sonny felt a wave of sickness wash over him. Bitty's eyes brightened in revelation. "Bonnie said you were a guard, are you on the Death Squad too?"

"Bitty..." He started, that name didn't exactly roll off one's tongue. He wanted to scream at her, try to make her see why this was no laughing matter. He was "Hank's Boy" at Jackson, and he already got shit from the vets, not excluding Dappa, that he was too young and inexperienced to guard Death Row. There was talk that Hank made some exceptions for his son, but no one could prove it. Sonny knew the truth. Truth was, he'd been bred to become an authoritative figure, preferably going into the family business of being a correctional officer. Come to think of it, Sonny had no choice but to be a CO, he was cut no slack and constantly had to prove he was worth his salt. So one could understand why Sonny didn't want Dappa or any of the naysayers to feel validated about objecting to Hank's decision to bring his son into Death Row.

Bitty giggled, not noticing Sonny's anxiety. "You are, aren't you? That's pretty... pretty badass. Where are you going?"

"You know nothing about it." Sonny was unhinged by the time he made it into the family room. Bitty's voice floated to his ears and his hand paused on the doorknob of the front door.

"You're not leaving until you tell me why you're high-tailin' it out of here like a fire's under your ass."

She was at his elbow now - if he opened the door it'd hit her. He let go of the doorknob and faced her; it wasn't hard to manage to loom over the small girl. "What would your old man say if the son of his _boss_ was in his home, with his seventeen-year-old daughter...?"

Bitty fixed him with a sidelong glance, as if she'd expected him to say more.

But nothing else needed to be said, fraternizing even platonically with Bitty was like treading on thin ice for Sonny. If he got wind of this, Dappa would castrate him and his family's name wouldn't be worth squat at Jackson anymore.

"I don't know where you're getting' at… but if it makes you feel better, I'll tell Daddy we were playing 'Beauty Shop.'"

Sonny's frown deepened and he gave her a warning look. "S'not funny, Bitty."

Bitty threw her fiery head back and shook with laughter. For such an attractive girl, she sure had an ugly laugh -- more like a chortle -- or that's what Sonny thought in his fit of contempt. She covered her mouth, snorted, then burst with laughter again, soon her mirth lolled and she was able to form sentences again. "I'll worry about Dappa, you go on home. I won't hold you up anymore."

"You seem mighty sure o' yourself, Girl." Sonny opened the door when Bitty stepped back into the room. The night was cool, clear and the sound of cicadas and crickets skittering nonstop in the treetops filled the air. Bitty smirked saucily, in the sparse light her eyes glowed like two dull flames.

"I am."


	5. Family Matters

**Disclaimer:** For entertainment only and I don't own _Monster's Ball_ or Sonny and the rest of its characters.

**A/N:** It's not like anyone has been on pins and needles waiting for this to update (sorry) but here it is. And as always, thanks to my beta, Carina, wherever you are.

Also, my little asterisks (*), or "=/=" i use to signify a POV or time jump got lost when i uploaded them here, i attempted to place them back but if it doesn't work it's not a big deal though.

**WARNING**: This fic has very strong language and offensive language, adult themes and content, please don't proceed if that's not your cup of tea.

* * *

Family Matters

"Daddy," Bonnie shuffles into the dark bedroom, pulling back the drapes of the picture window to let the brilliant morning light filter in. But the bed is vacant. Bonnie frowns at this, it was unlike her father to stay out all night, but he must have. Ever since her mother's death she woke him up every morning and made sure he took his vitamins and left for work on time. She gotten him back on track since he'd been lagging after her mother's death. Bonnie fought to keep down her temper, and reminded herself her father was a grown man and most assuredly could take care of himself.

Bonnie went about the rest of her morning routine, setting aside her father's disappearing act as a less pressing matter. She exited the room determined, going next door to Bernie's room. She knew he'd pressed the snooze on his alarm clock. More drastic measures were called for to wake her brother. She maliciously kicked his closed bedroom door five times, rattling the picture frames mounted on the wall. Then, without waiting for a response, she headed down stairs to cook breakfast.

An hour later, she had her brother fed and out the door.

=/=

Sonny gargles mouthwash until the minty burn dies down then spits into the washbowl and wipes his mouth with the corner of a towel hanging nearby. Checking himself out in the mirror, he turns his head side to side to get a look at the braids – sorry, _cornrows_ – from different angles. He looked ridiculous – but not bad... Experimenting, he smoothes a hand over his woven hair to find they didn't hurt as much as they did yesterday.

He would have taken the braids down if he knew how, but he didn't rip them out because he surmised it was better to endure than be permanently bald.

Sonny enters the kitchen – barefoot with pajama pants and no shirt on –Hank sat at the table, dressed in his uniform and perpetual scowl, sipping black coffee. "'The Hell's that on your head?" Making a beeline for the fridge, Sonny fishes out the OJ and drinks it straight out of the carton. "Ya hear what I said, Boy?"

Sonny's free hand comes up, index finger pointed towards the ceiling, as if to say _"Just a minute"_. Finishing his breakfast, he puts the carton back into the icebox half empty, or half full, depending on how you looked at it. "They're cornrows. You like 'em?" He belches, remembering his manners at the last minute and pardoning himself.

"Are you out of your mother-lovin' mind, Sonny?"

Sonny chose not to answer that question. Lately it seemed the only way he could get his father's attention was if he did something disreputable in his eyes.

Hank eyed his offspring contemptuously. "Take that mess down befo–"

"He's got a nigger 'do." Buck wheezes as he trails into the kitchen from the den – with the help of his walker, an oxygen tank attached to one of its legs, a thin, clear tube is hooked around his ears and forks into his hairy nostrils. His bushy eyebrows furrow and he cocks his balding head up, pure disgust written on his face.

"Mornin' to you too, Gramps." Sonny greets derisively.

"You're a goddamn disgrace, Son." Hank gets up and helps his crippled father take a seat at the table where a steaming mug of coffee is waiting for him. "...Just like your mother."

=/=

There's a tentative knock at the door. Bonnie places Sebastian Jr. in his bouncy chair, fastening him in, and goes to answer it. She opens the door without doing the sensible thing of checking the peephole first.

She practically slams the door in his face but thinks better of it at the last second.

"What are you doing here?" she said, trying not to sound apprehensive.

Sonny leaned on the banister of the porch; he cautiously takes off his baseball cap. "S'ry I dropped in on you like this…."

Bonnie peeks back into the house before stepping outside, leaving the door ajar. She wastes no time in grilling him. "How did you know I was here alone?"

"I didn't." Sonny replied, tucking the bill of his cap in his back pocket to spread his hands wide in ignorance.

Bonnie shook her head disapprovingly. "You got balls..." she did a doubletake – "Yo' hair!" Bonnie gave Sonny a one-over. He looked good – a little on the goofy side, though – but what'd you expect from a white person sporting an African hairdo?

"You like it?" Sonny asked, unsure.

Bonnie laughed. "Yeah..." she had a strange urge to touch them, so she ran her fingers feather-light along the braided rows, resting at nape of his neck – still damp from the shower he must've taken. Sonny closed his eyes and concentrated on her touch. Bonnie dropped her hand, and it occurred to Sonny that she had been unraveling a plait.

"You don't have to keep those in to impress me or somethin', ya know... You _must_ have a migraine."

=/=

_Thank God_, Sonny rejoiced, having been granted relief of having to keep up the hairstyle. He follows Bonnie into the house and takes everything in. Pictures, of all sizes and shapes, perched on tabletops in the living room and filled the wall like a gallery. Some were in color, some not, some were photos of nature, and some candid pictures of people doing ordinary things and some appeared to be posed portraits. There seemed to be no certain pattern or method or theme to any of the pictures, the photographer took the pictures because he or she could.

The pitter-patter of feet coming gets Sonny to tear his eyes away from the photos. Looking down at the polished oak floor, and turning around towards the door he'd just come in, he saw nothing and no one. About-facing back into the foyer, he finds himself suddenly staring into beady, chocolate brown eyes surrounded by thick lashes... _The kid appeared out of nowhere! Didn't Bonnie say she was here alone? This is how horror movies start..._

The kid stands no more than five feet away, she had a button nose chubby cheeks, and a caramel complexion. Her brown hair was adorned with a dozen or so pink barrettes made to look like bowties. He reckoned when Bonnie was about two years old she looked a lot like this.

"Bad Man!" she says.

=/=

Bonnie thought Sonny was behind her. She reentered the living room and stopped dead in her tracks.

"Bad man! Bad man!"

"Nadia!" Two strides get Bonnie to her. She scoops Nadia up, bouncing the child on her hip. "No, he's not a bad man." She glances up at Sonny. _I'll explain, _her look says. Nadia still accuses Sonny of burglary, but Bonnie knew how to calm her down. "Nadia, this is Sonny Grotowski. Can you say _'Gro-tow-ski'_?"

"...Grrrr..." she gurgles, trying so hard her brown eyes cross in determination. "...G-Grow-toadie!"

"That's right! Sonny Growtoadie is my friend, so we don't need to tell Grandpa 'bout this misunderstandin', okay?"

The two-year-old shook her head up and down as her pink barrettes clacked together gleefully.

"Good." Bonnie put her back down on the floor and swatted her padded bottom. "Now go eat yo' lunch." With that, Nadia waddled off.

Turning back to Sonny, she sighs. "Let's go in the play room."

=/=

The back, screened-in porch was converted into a "play room". The air conditioner blasted cool air throughout, giving respite from the sweltering heat outside. Toys and games scattered the floor, a medium size TV, set into the wall of the house, played a cartoon program. The room had been fortified against dangers wayward kids may come upon. The electric outlets that weren't being used were covered, and Sonny had to step over a safety gate to enter. No glass or sharp objects were in sight, everything that was higher than three feet and could move was fixed to the floor or wall somehow, and soft stuffed animals piled in abundance in a toy chest off to one side.

Bonnie walked in first and bent down to pick something up off the floor. When she straightened and faced him again she didn't have a something, but a _someone_ – a baby!

Bonnie came forward, adjusting the doll-esque body to cradle in her arms.

"And who's this?" He inquires, unconsciously bringing a hand up the tickle the baby's double chin.

"This is Bam."

"Bam?" He snorts skeptically. What kind of a name is _Bam_ for a girl?

Bonnie's eyebrow raised challengingly. "Wanna hold him?"

Him? Sonny took a closer look at the baby, because _he_ looked like a girl. He couldn't ruminate more on the baby's androgynous features, for Bonnie handed the baby to him without permission.

"Relax." Bonnie coos calmly, and Sonny didn't know if she was referring to the baby or him. Sonny couldn't help but to be uptight, he'd never held a baby before. And it showed by the way he held Bam: under the baby's armpits at arm's length as if he stunk of a dirty diaper. "Hold him like this –" she put Bam's downy head in the crook of Sonny's elbow, his hand facing upright so that he was cupping the baby's bottom. "- See? - like a football..."

Now that he was holding Bam properly, Sonny was able to rock him, he had the urge to make "goo goo" sounds, but resisted because it would be too wussy. He made to hand the baby back to Bonnie when the little boy clamored in his arms in protest, thrashing about, then – _smack!_ – Sonny's thwacked in the face by an errant, chubby hand.

"BAM!" Bonnie took the future star pitcher from him thankfully, putting him in a play-pin pushed up against a corner of the room. Sonny missed the slick, conspiratorial smirk she had as she faced away.

"I take it that's a nickname... he's got helluva'n arm." He muttered, delicately prodding the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm bleeding." Bonnie comes back and assesses the damage by cruelly pinching his bulbous nose. "Ow!"

She laughs and taunts - "You're not bleeding from a baby, ya big baby."

That gave Sonny pause, and he peered at her disbelievingly "_Your_ baby?"

Bonnie's brows dip in resentment as if she wanted to strike him for having the audacity to ask such a question. She looks away, and then as if someone flicked a switch, she softens a split second later. "...No."

=/=

Just then, Dewie runs in, skidding to a stop between Bonnie and Sonny. He's a five-year-old with big curious eyes that widen in horror at the sight of the stranger.

Sonny's expression echoes the boy's amazement. How many more kids will come out the woodwork? Bonnie really wasn't helping her case with all these surprise witnesses. Overwhelmed, he bemoans, "You got another one."

Bonnie ignores Sonny, and bends down with her hands on her knees to look into Dewie's watering eyes. "Dewie, what is it?"

Sonny took an unconscious step forward making the boy shrink in upon himself. At seeing Dewie's reaction to his presence, Sonny turns away swiftly, willing himself to be invisible.

"Don't look at him." Bonnie grabbed to boy's frail arms and jerked him alert. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

"But..."

"But, what?"

"Why is a Milkman here?"

Bonnie gasped, mouth agape.

Sonny raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. _Milkman_?

Bonnie made a mental note to talk to Angel about the choice words she used around her children and what was and wasn't appropriate, however futile that would be. This was one of those inappropriate words. Dewie didn't mean Sonny delivered milk, no, he was indicating the color of his skin – white like milk.

Bonnie straightened her legs to tower over Dewie. "I don't wanna hear you say that again. His name is Sonny."

Dewie nodded his head, lips pressed tight. A tear broke loose and rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it away before it could dry. Sonny listened to all this in silence, but the pessimistic bone in him felt Bonnie said what she said not to educate Dewie, but because she didn't want any bad blood between them.

Bonnie sighed, her voice back to an even tone. "Did you eat lunch?"

Dewie was staring down at his untied sneakers. "Yes, but..." he was mumbling into his shirt.

"What?" Bonnie said with irritation.

"I'm still hungry."

Sonny half laughed and half snorted. He bet he was. The boy looked damn near emaciated. He cleared his throat, two pairs of brown eyes looked at him; he had their undivided attention.

"Dessert? My treat."

=/=

"They're not mine." is what Bonnie said of Dewie, Nadia, and Sebastian Jr. or "Bam." They were Angel's, Bonnie's older sister, but she disappeared so much they might as well have been Bonnie's kids. Sonny saw the way she talked to them, reprimanded them about not touching anything in the truck, scolded them for not looking out the car before they jumped to the ground, chastised them for being too loud while waiting in the restaurant's lobby to be seated. She tucked napkins under their neck and told them to eat neatly, for what good it'll do, and Sonny thought, _How could they _not_ be hers?_

Sonny discovered he was eating less and smoking more. He had just returned to their booth at Bud's Broiler from having a smoke outside, his half-eaten French fries were getting cold. He'd only received a few odd looks at his hair, but no one said anything, so neither did he. Bonnie had Bam in a high chair at the end of the table and was trying to feed him a bowl of chocolate pudding. Whenever the spoon got towards his face he'd turn away, feeding the pudding to his fat cheeks instead. Bonnie gave up and went back to her waffle à la mode. Dewie and Nadia sat in the booth next to him and Bonnie, devouring a slice of chocolate cake between them. Bonnie looked up as he slid back into the booth across from her.

"Someone has a staring problem."

"Who?" he whips around to look at the other diners scattered around the restaurant, only to have Bonnie reach over and grab his chin, turning him back around in the booth.

"Don't look!"

Sonny regards her as she hands Bam a piece of her waffle, he takes it and eagerly gnaws on it with his four teeth, mashing it in his little stubby fist.

"Are you going to tell me why you've got an attitude?"

"That lady..." Bonnie's eyes float to her right clandestinely, he follows her discretion and only moves his eyes to see the gray-haired woman sitting alone in a booth on the far wall. The woman chances a glance over at their booth, realizes they're on to her, and quickly faces the window. "...has been staring at us since we've been here."

"And?"

Bonnie sighs, "_And_ - that could only mean one thing." She looks at Nadia and Dewie to make sure they were eating and not listening to her conversation. "It's obvious."

"What is?" He prods her, wishing she'd stop beating 'round the bush... An explanation isn't necessary, albeit slow on the uptake he connects the dots,. "You can't be serious, you think that lady's looking at us 'cause -"

"...I'm black. You're white. And I just so happen to have three small kids. What could she possibly perceive this," she fans her hand back and forth between him and herself, "- to be, huh?"

"Who cares what anyone else thinks? I didn't know this was the '50s."

"Might as well be, babe. We're still second-class citizens in some respects - I bet that old hag wishes 'Jim Crow' still applied."

"_C'mon_, Bonnie. You're overreactin'." Sonny reached out to grab her hand and she pulled it away.

"No. Don't talk to me like I'm a fuckin' child. I hate that." Bonnie seethed, punctuating her words by slamming her palm on the table. Sonny had no idea why she'd struck up this argument with him. He'd done nothing wrong, 'least not intentionally.

"Well, what do you want _me_ to do? Apologize for slavery?"

"That'd be nice."

Sonny sits back in his side of the booth, glaring at her incredulously. "_Fuck_ you."

Bonnie laughed a mocking laugh, her breasts jiggling in her t-shirt as she threw her head back. Just as quickly as she started laughing she ceased to be. She leered at him, sober, as if she held a great secret over his head.

"You. _Wish_."

Damn her. Damn her! She was incorrigible. Sonny had to ball his fists up at his sides as if to hold on to his sanity, and he shook his head. He didn't want to admit that, in the back of his mind, he knew she was right.

The waitress came up and offered them a wry smile, flashing white teeth, crows feet were beginning to crease the corners of her tawny eyes, but not from old age. She worked hard at putting on a debonair mask, but not hard enough. She looked worn out -working back-to-back shifts would do that to you - yet seemed determined to not let that deter her. Oblivious or just duly ignoring the tension that had been boiling up until her entrance, the waitress smiled down at a drooling Bam and patted his frizzy hair adoringly.

"Will that be all?"

Bonnie looked indifferent to Sonny's pissed mien. She smiled at him cheekily before looking to the older woman. "Yeah, Leticia, that's all."

"I'll get you the check," she said, scribbling something on her notepad. The waitress then placed the notepad back in her apron and inspected the kids, tacking on, "...and some wet naps."

* * *

**I haven't revisited the fic in literally months, a year or more maybe. So any inconsistency is my fault, even though I've read through the chapters again, the story is quite large and i can't catch EVERYTHING.**


	6. The Black Sheep

**Disclaimer:** Work of fiction. Don't own _Monster's Ball_ or its characters.

**WARNING**: BAD/OFFENSIVE LANGUAGE!

* * *

The Black Sheep

_-o-o-o-o-_

Sonny held Bam once they arrived back at Bonnie's house. The baby dozed in his arms, his head resting on Sonny's shoulder as he climbed the steps. Bonnie had reached the porch and stood under the overhang with Nadia in her arms, mirroring how Sonny held Bam. She gave Dewie the key and he opened the door, leading the way inside.

"Stay here." Bonnie said and she began to ascend the stairs off to the left of the foyer, back stiff, restricting her shoulder movements so as not to wake Nadia. Sonny opened his mouth to object, but Bonnie had hit the second floor landing and vanished around the corner. That's when Bam chose to wake up.

Bam made drowsy sounds and lifted his head up from Sonny's shoulder. A small hand slapped Sonny in the eye, and Bam cried out, short arms wheeling. Dewie stood off to the side, eyeing Sonny curiously.

"Got any advice kid, o' you jus' gon' stand there?" Sonny asked of the five year old over Bam's wails. Dewie gulped, taking two tentative steps back. "Huh?"

Dewie looked like he was about to piss his pants at Sonny's boisterous command, and wound up beating a frightened retreat to bury his head under the stuffed toys.

"Shit." Sonny grumbled, and Bam cried louder. Sonny brought his left hand to support the baby's back as he tried to soothe him. "Hey, kid, quiet." Sonny found that when he started to pat the baby's back the sobs quieted gradually. He started to hum a tuneless song. It suddenly occurred to him the lullaby was what his mother used to sing to him. He'd long forgotten the words, but that was just as well.

Bonnie descended the stairs sans Nadia, smiling wryly. "You're good at that."

Sonny stopped humming, and his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. "The fuck, Bonnie? You got no right leavin' me with Baby Huey and… the mute." He said as Bam squirmed in his arms, seeming to take the insult to heart.

Bonnie glared at Sonny angrily; she stabbed her finger in his chest once she was within arms length. "Watch your mouth 'round my nephew, Sonny," she warned. Sonny looked at her finger in his chest like he'd bite it off, Bonnie took it back before he could make up his mind. "Their mama does enough of that. Besides, you don't look like you need help… Bam likes you."

Sonny glanced down at Bam's cherub face and puppy-dog eyes. He became entranced with the woeful infant, he actually thought the kid was cute, but rather than agree with Bonnie he adverted his gaze. "Well, I don't like him." He countered weakly, and he tried to pry Bam from his shirt, but the baby squealed and clamored, stretching the shirt as he refused to budge. Bonnie pulled Bam away and he wailed in wordless complaint.

"He's not looking too good." Bonnie said as she got a good look at Bam. The baby's cheeks reddened as he cried harder, and his upper lip was wet with snot. When Bonnie looked up at Sonny, she didn't quite meet his eyes, as she was staring at the spot that Bam had just vacated. Sonny looked down to find his shoulder covered in white baby vomit the consistency of runny yogurt starting to trail down the front of his button-up shirt.

"Ah shi-."

Bonnie cleared her throat.

"I was gonna say 'shoot'."

"Whatever." Bonnie sighed. "Bathroom's down the hall, you can wash up there."

Sonny wordlessly sulked down the hall. There were two doors on either side of the short corridor, the kitchen and subsequent playroom opened up just ahead. He hardly noticed the two doors earlier in the day, and other than been on opposite sides the hall they looked identical. Without preamble Sonny reached for the doorknob on the right.

"Not that one!" Bonnie called.

Sonny turned to see Bonnie still in the entrance to the hallway, comforting Bam and watching his movements. Sonny swallowed a smartass opine that jumped to mind just then, he'd be wasting his breath and he didn't want the vomit on him no longer than necessary, so he groaned his annoyance as he stepped to the correct door without further ado.

=/=

Sonny sat on the closed toilet seat, head in his hands, counting the salmon-colored floor tiles under his boots. He lit a cigarette, idly puffing on the filter while he waited. He precariously twined the cord of a blow dryer through the accordion-style arm of the vanity mirror so it was suspended upside-down and set it on auto, allowing it to relentlessly blast hot air on his damp shirt and undershirt as they hung draped over the towel rack.

Sonny stood and extinguished the cigarette in the toilet water, and pissed while he was at it. He washed his hands in the sink and caught his reflection in the mirror of the medicine cabinet. He still had the braids. Somehow being naked from the chest up with the plaits made him look more grim, more opposing. His amber-tinted eyes looked darker, and he no longer looked like his reserved, blue-collar, 20-something self; he could pass for the tough-as-nails inmates he guarded from the rest of the world at the penitentiary. Scrutinizing his reflection, he moved his head around and freely touched the rows without any pain. The cornrows effectively eclipsed his safe "good ol' boy" appearance, and now Sonny wasn't sure what to make of the 'do. He briefly entertained the idea of keeping the hairstyle just to spite his belligerent grandfather.

The blow dryer shut off when it got overheated, and in the calm Sonny could hear Bonnie's voice coming from somewhere in the house, and then footsteps in the foyer. The doorbell chimed merrily, announcing the arrival of someone.

Sonny got dressed and cracked open the bathroom door, carefully. Through the narrow crack he was able to see down the hall into the foyer, and witnessed Bonnie's coiffed head pass his line of sight. She was speaking with whomever she had let into the house.

"…The kids have already ate… tell Angel she's not gonna get away with shorting me last week… Bam-Bam's coming down with a fever, I think," she held out her hand and dangled a baby-blue diaper bag on her index finger. "I put some Infant Tylenol and a thermometer in his bag."

Sonny got a glimpse of the guy who took the diaper bag; tall, brown-skinned, tight dreadlocks bunched into a low ponytail, and he looked about his age.

The guy took the bag, smirking. "Anyone would think _you_ were they Mama..." he regarded her thoughtfully, then frowned as he added, "I found out Angel wasn't at work like she said she was gonna be."

A sound of indifference escaped Bonnie's throat. Apparently, she wasn't surprised at the news. "She turn up yet?"

"Nah, she betta' turn up soon or I'mma -"

"You're on probation, Sebastian," she chided.

"Only for another year." Sebastian proclaimed as if that was something to be proud of, then took Bonnie's hand unexpectedly and pulled her to him, Sonny's face darkened at that. "Damn, you look nice today... me and you still can't work things out?"

"There's nothing to work out, Sebastian – you're with my sister. God, y'all have kids."

"They're not _my_ kids." He said without hesitation.

Bonnie levered her hand between them so they weren't so close. "Bam's _yours _and you know it."

The confidence Sebastian exuded thus far seemed to wane at that.

To make matters worse, Bonnie glanced back at the bathroom door now ajar, spying the distinct silhouette lurking just inside. Realizing they had an audience, her cheeks warmed with insecurity and she pushed away from the offending embrace. However, the judgmental Sebastian never took his eyes off her telltale face, shrewdly putting pieces to the puzzle.

"You got a'nuttha nigga 'round my kids, don't you?"

Bonnie reeled back, "Oh, so _now_ they're yo' kids?"

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. "Don't try and change the subject."

Bonnie stepped further into the house, "It's none of your business." When it was apparent Bonnie wouldn't divulge her secret guest, Sebastian begrudgingly took Dewie, Nadia, and Bam home.

=/=

Sonny emerged from the bathroom. Bonnie had disappeared into the house again. He looked over at the closed door across from him, and moved to take a look inside and satisfy his curiosity once and for all.

He stepped forward and gripped the brass doorknob, turning it purposefully. He pushed it open partly and cold air rushed past Sonny, enough to make him shiver with uneasiness. It was a bedroom. Nothing jumped out at Sonny as being out of sorts, though, whoever slept in here was a perfectionist. The dresser was lined with angel sculptures and antique dolls, of all shapes and sizes. The shutters to the room were closed but he could make out the fluffy, homemade quilt pulled tight over the high bed.

"What are you doing?"

Sonny shut the door and looked at Bonnie, suddenly there, with her fists fixed to her hips testily. The not-so-happy mug she was so good at making was on her face. For a moment, Sonny envisioned they looked like one of those standoffs in spaghetti Western flicks.

"You just couldn't leave well enough alone, huh?" Bonnie said and she had his wrist now, leading him away like a naughty child.

=/=

Sonny dried his hair with Bonnie's trusty blow dryer, shaking out the last flecks of water from the thorough wash he had to give it. He felt almost rejuvenated from having the cornrows gone, but forlorn at the same time. He'd have to think of a different way to get a rise out of Gramps. But his signature curly/straight/blonde/brown hair was no longer bound and hung freely.

Bonnie crossed her arms over her polo shirt, leaning in the doorway of the upstairs bathroom, and watched him finish up. She looked down and started to chew her bottom lip.

"I expected you to leave as soon as you saw the kids," she finally said, and produced a small towel.

Sonny took the towel, dabbing water off the back of his neck. "Couldn't've left with those braids still in my head, now could I?" He meant it as a joke, but Bonnie didn't laugh, she didn't even acknowledge the remark, and she walked out into the hall wordlessly.

He found her and what appeared to be her room. An old Corduroy Bear was perched on the pillows against the wooden headboard. The walls were white and barren, aside from tattered corners of paper pinned on thumbtacks in a few spots. Maybe, he thought, she had as many posters as Bitty did in her room once, then ripped them down in some angst-ridden fit. Bonnie sat on the dark blue coverlet of her bed, legs crossed at her ankles. Sonny took the only seat in the room, at the desk across from her.

Bonnie looked remorseful as she said, "I should've warned you."

Naturally, Sonny thought about the unexpected introduction of Nadia, Dewie, and Bam. He shrugged. "Nah, kids are nice… until they spit up on you."

Bonnie wrapped her hands around her stomach protectively. "I mean, about Sebastian."

She spat the words as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.

"You don't have to explain anything to me." Sonny said quietly. He didn't understand what she wanted from him. He had to tuck his feet under the chair as Bonnie stood and began to pace back and fourth in front of him, her hands rubbing her arms.

"You didn't ask where my sister's other baby's daddies were."

Sonny would have laughed if Bonnie weren't being wholly serious. "W-What?"

"You didn't ask about what happened with me and Sebastian."

"Didn't know I was 'sposed to-" the words died on his tongue, and Bonnie froze mid-pace. They both turned their ear toward the muffled sounds echoing from somewhere else in the house. "Wait, you hear that?"

Bonnie grew pale. "Daddy."

=/=

Who greeted Bonnie in the foyer was not her father but someone more dreadful, the bane of her existence. Her brother.

Bernie flumped down the hall with a salad bowl filled with cereal in his hands. He smiled toothily at his sister.

"I saw the _BéBés_ leave with the sperm donor. Where's Daddy?"

Bonnie was pretty sure her brother was referring to their nephews and niece, and Sebastian. She blocked his advancement to the second level of the house by standing on the last step, so he couldn't pass without bumping her or spilling his cereal.

"How should I know where Daddy is?"

Bernie tilted his chin up to look at his sister; Bonnie remained impassive. "'Cause _you're_ the one who tracks his every…" Bernie drifted off. "Oh."

Bonnie spread her arms apart so one laid flat on the wall and the other gripped the banister, she challenged. "'Oh,' what?"

"You got a nigga in yo' room, don't you?" Bernie said shrewdly.

Bonnie deadpanned. "Only _nigga _I see is YOU."

Bernie stepped back and out of her reach as he said, "I'm tellin' Daddy."

Bonnie called his bluff. "You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me!" Bernie taunted, but made no move for the nearest telephone.

Bonnie sighed. "Don't make empty threats, Bernie…"

=/=

A shouting match ensued between the siblings, which gave Sonny the diversion he needed to slink down the trellis mounted on the back of the house like a ladder. Bonnie adamantly wanted him to park in the grassy lot next to the house and not the paved driveway, so he did. He shook his head dumbly for not realizing it sooner – the spot was obscured from view of anyone entering the house from the front –and that couldn't be just a coincidence.

He thought it better to just leave and not bother with farewells. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes as he crossed the yard, only to find it empty, so he crumpled the cardboard and foil in his fist and threw it over his shoulder, only to have it ricochet and thump him in the back of his head a moment later.

Bonnie came up behind him, catching him completely off guard. "Is my family so fucked up that you can't even tell me goodbye?" she came closer, stepping over underbrush without having to look down.

"Compared to mine, your family is like the Cleavers." Sonny rejoined dryly. Bonnie gave him a look that said she didn't believe him, and he noticed she was entering his personal space. She wrapped her arms around his middle, her hands meeting together at his back, he brought his arms up around hers, reciprocating the hug.

Then, they kissed – a brief, clumsy meeting of lips – Bonnie pulled back and blinked up at him, clearly not expecting it.

Sonny squeezed her shoulders one last time and their embrace ended, "Goodbye."

Seldom was Bonnie at a lost for words, this was one of those times. She fought back tears as she watched Sonny leave her, hopping into his truck and turning the key in the ignition. Before he could shift into reverse Bonnie was at the driver's window, knocking on the glass, and he rolled down his window for her.

"I want to see you again," she told him earnestly.

Sonny was clearheaded enough to consider the repercussions of agreeing to see her again. "What about your folks?"

Bonnie's eyes grew dark and misty; her voice was void of any feeling as she gave him her answer.

"Fuck them."


End file.
